


Sweet Creature

by sereindawn



Category: In the Bleak Midwinter (Webcomic)
Genre: All I know is that its very soft, F/M, I have fallen into the pit that is Ivanya and there is no return, I promise I'll write a dialogue heavy fic at some point, I wrote this so fast I don't even know what this is, In a summary: there are many feelings, a lot of pining in this, because it possible they may break my heart, drowning my sorrows in ivanya fluff, it is disgustingly fluffy I am surviving purely through fics and headcanons, just not today, misha is also mentioned, they are balm for the soul, will be needing the angst after this tooth rotting fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sereindawn/pseuds/sereindawn
Summary: Canon says Ivan doesn't play guitar(?), headcanon says otherwise.
Relationships: Anya/Ivan, Ivan/Anya
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Sweet Creature

**Author's Note:**

> My GOD, this is going to be the fluffiest, most self indulgent thing you will ever read in your entire life. It's based off a conversation I had with a few others where Ivan sings 'Sweet Creature,' and you know what that means everyone: we've dived right into the world that is ITBMW headcanon fuckery. Also I haven't read this through, just nod and pretend that there aren't any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes.

The words were quiet, almost a murmur, clinging to each gentle pluck of the guitar strings with a softness that crawled its way into Anya’s chest and nestled comfortably within the confinements of her ribcage. 

It was a welcome softness, and it fluttered pleasantly, alongside the pulse of her heart. 

Misha lay sleeping not far away, and although Anya knew that Misha was a heavy sleeper, the two had shared their conversations in hushed voices so as to keep the moment between them.

She hadn’t intended to wander into his bedroom during her pacing of the halls so late at night. She’d found Ivan leaning against the wall outside his door, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a curve of a smile playing across his lips when his eyes had caught her own. 

Brief explanations of nightmares and insomnia had been passed back and fourth as a means of finding an excuse to talk. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, as though he were telling her a secret, or that there had been a fondness in his tone that felt as though the said secret was something that had been sculpted just for her, because when he asked if she wanted to come in, there wasn’t a moment of hesitation in her response. 

They were sat cross legged in the corner of the room by a desk, facing one another and close enough for their knees to bump every now and then. The dim glow of the lamp softened his features into something that reminded Anya of an old oil painting, the light catching in the gentle glint of his eyes as he smiled at her, and lacing gold on the edges of his silhouette. 

There always seemed to be a constant warmth that radiated from Ivan in a way that was infectious, and the closer you were to it, the more inebriating it became. But like this, when they were alone and the air around them hummed with something that made her feel both grounded and dizzy, it was a kind of warmth that made it difficult to breathe. 

Anya’s eyes had fallen on the guitar that had been propped against the wall, and Ivan had raised an eyebrow and teasingly asked her if she wanted to play. She hadn’t even had time to reply before he’d picked it up and placed it on her lap, taking her hands and moving them into the correct position. It didn’t escape her notice when he lingered on her skin longer than he needed to. 

It was a past time she knew he was fond of, he’d mentioned it once or twice in fleeting conversation, but Anya hadn’t, until that moment, been given the opportunity to see it - no matter how many times he’d jokingly offered to serenade her. 

He guided her through each chord and strum pattern, heads bent together as they worked through a song that Anya didn’t know. After she had almost half successfully finished her rendition without his help, Ivan had nudged her foot with his as way of praise and smirked, a certain lilt to his voice that she felt through the hairs on the back of her neck. 

When he had taken the guitar back from her, his hands had slid across the wood like it was routine, long fingers finding their positions on the fret board as curls of hair fell across his forehead. 

The warmth that bloomed within her chest when he played was slow and rich, creeping up with a pang that arched low in the pit of her stomach. Anya had found it difficult not to let a surprised laugh escape her when she’d realised his voice was much nicer than she’d expected, to which Ivan had responded with a quick wry look through his fringe. 

Then after a short while, he stopped, and it felt like she’d been quite unexpectedly thrown out of balance when she found that the feeling that had accompanied his playing, had not.

There was a stillness that felt far too heavy for what it should’ve been. 

The following silence, one which still rang with lyrics that were perhaps just a bit too intimate, had exposed something that had been previously masked by hushed conversation and music. It was something vulnerable and delicate, but it raged and burned with an ever growing heat that could have fooled her otherwise. 

When she looked at him, there was a light flush on his face that she’d only seen on occasion when he was particularly relaxed, when he would laugh and it was something that came from his entire being rather than just his lips. 

He wasn’t smiling then, he was watching, Looking at her in the way that was always far too intense and far too difficult to tear your eyes from, as though he was seeing directly into her. Although this wasn’t discomforting, because she felt in that moment like she could see him too. 

Soft shadows, as though they had been drawn with charcoal, smudged across the ridges of his face and blurred into tones of amber and orange from the lamp behind him. His expression had taken on a quality that she remembered seeing once when he said goodbye to her, gentle, personal, and something which, she now realised with dawning clarity, was only reserved for her. 

When he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, it was barely within her control that she leaned into his hand. 

He stilled. 

Then his gaze shifted, and slowly, like he was savouring the feel of her beneath his touch, he cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb across her skin, tracing her freckles. Almost achingly, he made his way down the curve of her cheek bone, before he brushed over her bottom lip, and dragged it down with a gaze that was much fiercer, much more acute than she’d seen him use before. 

Her breath hitched.

**Author's Note:**

> I would've put this in my drabbles fic, but I wanted to post this as a separate fic just because its half two in the morning and thats how my brain is working right now. I also drew inspiration from an official non-canon drabble written by the author on their patreon, if you haven't read it yet (there are also a few others) and would like to, then it's available for free so even those without patreon can check it out:)


End file.
